


i'll have the number four, with a side of 'where the hell am i?'

by starworm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Chaotic Peter Parker, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Miscommunication, Missing Persons, Missions Gone Wrong, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Peter Parker is a Mess, Sam Wilson is So Done, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Can Cook, Whataburger, but not like that, chaotic bucky barnes, chaotic dad tony stark, misuse of the quinjet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starworm/pseuds/starworm
Summary: Peter felt like he was going to explode. Of course, his luck was just brilliant.“Am I in hell?”“No, you’re at Whataburger.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 146
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Fluff Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	i'll have the number four, with a side of 'where the hell am i?'

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired by my freshman year of college. my friends and i were a walking shitshow. enjoy :-) 
> 
> cw: heavy themes of alcohol. it's not serious or negative and it's all funny stuff but if that's not your vibe then be warned

Peter awoke slowly, as if sleep was fighting to keep him. He held back a groan as he noted the crick in his neck and soreness in his shoulders. The plastic chair _(bench?)_ he was sitting on did absolutely _no_ favors for his back.

 _God,_ his head hurt like a bitch. 

Peter mentally cursed. His brain felt fuzzy, as if it was filled with cotton balls. He still felt half asleep, unable to fully gain awareness no matter how much he tried. 

The shitty plastic chair, the feeling in his head, the _ache_ in almost every part of his body. His half-conscious mind tried to put it all together. He breathed in deeply, scrunching his nose in confusion because it almost smelled like—

_Burgers….?_

He peeled his face from the sticky plastic table. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, vision still blurry, and took a slow look at his surroundings.

A fast food restaurant. He was seated in a small booth in the corner of some _fast food restaurant._

He groaned, stretching his shoulders and cracking his neck and back. He genuinely had no clue how he’d ended up here or why he can’t remember, but he swore to _never_ sleep in a shitty plastic booth again. 

Adjusting his position, he squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to remember what happened the night before. Where he was. _Why_ he was sitting alone in a mystery burger joint feeling like he’d been hit by another train.

_Oh my god, was I hit by another train?_

He huffed out a frustrated breath, and accidentally made eye contact with one of the workers. She smiled brightly and started making her way to his table. Her bleached hair had streaks of green and blue and was in two braids, stuffed underneath a black hat. Her bright orange collared shirt made Peter’s head hurt. 

Actually, everything made Peter’s head hurt. 

Every beam of light and every single sound made him want to curl into a ball and pass away. Enhanced senses and all that. 

The girl peeked over her shoulder at the counter, then settled in the seat across from him. She placed a—presumably shitty—cup of coffee in front of him, and dumped an absurd amount of creamer and sugar packets onto the table. 

“Hi,” she stuck out her hand, “I’m Hillary.”

Peter stared, unable to form a coherent thought. He cringed at how his voice sounded, but choked out, “I’m, uh, Peter.”

Hillary nodded, looked down at his hand resting on the table, then looked back at him. With slightly narrowed eyes, she picked up his hand and shook it firmly. “You’re _not_ gonna leave me hanging after I brought you coffee, dude.” 

“I—uh what? Thank you.” It came off more as a question. 

“Yeah, don’t mention it. Anyways,” she pushed the coffee cup towards Peter, as if coaxing him to drink up. “Rough night?” 

Peter furrowed his brows, noticing her accent. She sounded… southern. Where the _fuck_ was he? 

“Where the fuck am I,” he deadpanned. 

Hillary laughed, like he had just made the funniest joke she’s ever heard. “Whataburger.” 

“What a _what._ ” 

She just grinned. “Oh you mean _where_ where. About two hours south of Dallas. On a good day, anyways. Fucking traffic. Listen, finish that coffee and I’ll bring ya some breakfast. You must have one _killer_ hangover.” 

“I don’t get hangovers.” 

Hillary stood, “Sure. Nice costume by the way.” 

He looked down, noticing his outfit for the first time and groaned in irritation. He was decked out in his black kevlar tactical suit, minus the mask. _Holy shit._ He only ever wore this suit for stealth missions, mostly with Nat and—

He slammed his head into the table. 

A _very_ faint memory started to form. He had been on a mission with Nat and Sam and Bucky. Some Hydra-wannabe takedown op in the Alps. It was a three day thing, nothing too crazy. He remembered arguing with Tony about going, _as always._ As if he was still sixteen and not twenty. _Whatever._

They had a few drinks on the Quinjet to celebrate another successful mission, as per tradition. Okay, maybe more than a _few_. 

The last thing he remembered clearly was drinking “Super Soldier Vodka”—as Bucky calls it. Which still left far too many gaps in his memory. None of this explained why he was in fucking _Texas._

_What the fuck._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Natasha woke up far too early. She _didn’t_ get hangovers. Ever. But _goddamn_ she definitely felt it this morning. The holographic alarm clock on her nightstand claimed it was 9:27am, but she could swear it felt like 5 in the morning. _God,_ she was dead tired.

_Get your shit together, Nat._

After a quick shower, she made her way up to the Stark’s floor to debrief and for breakfast. Mostly for breakfast. 

When Peter came along all those years ago, Tony had started actually using his kitchen again. Now that he had _two_ children, he had become something of a breakfast wizard. And who was Natasha to pass up a good, homemade meal? 

God knows Steve was a disaster in the kitchen, and nobody else on the Avengers floor really _tried_. And besides, Stark’s breakfasts were the best the morning after a long mission. 

When the elevator doors opened, she waltzed into the kitchen and grabbed a large mug from the cabinet. After filling it with coffee she snagged a seat at the breakfast nook. 

“Good morning to you too,” came Tony’s voice, feigning exasperation. 

Natasha ignored him, opting instead to greet Pepper. Then, taking a look around the unusually quiet kitchen she asked, “Where’s the little monster?” 

“Pete? I have no clue.”

Pepper smacked Tony’s arm. “ _Morgan_ is at a sleepover. She’ll be home later.” 

“I’m surprised you let her spend the night away from home without drone surveillance or something.” 

Tony snorted. “I ran complete background checks on everyone there _and_ the neighbors, what kind of father do you think I am?” 

Natasha took a swig of her coffee. Black and scalding hot, just how she liked it. “Invasion of privacy in the name of love.” 

“Okay, _you’re_ one to talk about invasion of privacy.” 

“Yeah what’s your point.” 

Tony shrugged, then turned back to the stove. The silence in the kitchen was comfortable and Natasha lived for these moments. This whole team—this shitshow of self sacrificing, messy, ridiculous people—was her family. 

It wasn’t long before the food was done. She filled her plate and retook her seat, surprised that Peter hadn’t stumbled out of his room at the smell of breakfast yet. She had texted Barnes to check in, only to receive a reply reading _fuck off_ , and didn’t even _try_ to reach Sam. She knew he’d have one hell of a hangover and was fully prepared to not see or hear from him until the afternoon. But _normally_ Peter would rise from the dead as soon as he smelled bacon. 

Weird. 

Tony must’ve read her mind, “Hey, I know you guys got in late but have you seen Peter this morning? He usually appears conveniently after breakfast is made.”

 _Oh shit._ She was sure it was _nothing,_ and freaking Tony and Pepper out was on the bottom of her list of things she wanted to do. 

Tony did this thing she referred to as “Dad Spiraling” whenever he was worried about Peter and it was the worst thing in the world. 

She decided to play it cool. Figure out where the fuck he was later. 

“He had mentioned getting up early to get some project done. That _asshole._ Sam and Barnes are currently dying and I had to drag myself up this morning. I hate young people.” 

Pepper ruefully narrowed her eyes, “You _are_ young people.” 

“Not _that_ young.” 

Tony pointed his fork at her. “Actually, Nat, great point. Why _are_ you corrupting my child?”

She held up her hands in mock defeat. “Hey, in my defense he was of legal drinking age in _Europe_.”

“Thin ice, Romanoff.” 

  
  


* * *

Peter’s attempt at forming a coherent thought was interrupted by the girl, Hillary, placing a tray in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I don’t have any money on me.” 

She scoffed. “Yeah, no shit. It’s fine. This is on me—and Phil.” She turned to wave at a gruff looking man behind the counter. 

Peter followed suit. Phil did not wave back. 

As odd as this situation was he couldn’t help but feel comforted at Hillary’s—and evidently Phil’s—kindness. He managed a smile. “Thank you.” 

Hillary just nodded. “So, like, what happened? Because when I got on shift at like, six this morning, you were just here at this booth. Knocked the fuck out and surrounded by like, seven large fries and four burger wrappers.” 

“Wait, I was here all night?” 

“I guess so. Luna—one of my friends who was doing the night shift—said you were just _there._ ” 

Peter nodded absently as he unwrapped one of the sandwiches that Hillary had given him. “I can’t believe I just—wait, what is this?” He gestured at the sandwich. 

“Honey butter chicken biscuit.”

“Huh.” He took a massive bite. 

_Holy fuck,_ Peter thought. Maybe it was the not-hangover talking, but this was the best thing Peter had ever eaten in his life. 

Hillary grinned at his reaction, then leaned across the table. “Where are you from?” 

“New York,” he answered, though it sounded more like _Nufgh Yrorgh_ through the mouthful of chicken whatever-the-fuck goodness. 

The girl stared, wide eyed. “ _New York_ ? What the hell are you doing _here_?” 

Peter wanted to combust. “Fuck if I know. I mean, I know where I was _before_ but then I, uh, got super drunk and—now I’m here?” 

She nodded in understanding. “You’re a college student, right? You’ve gotta be. This is _absolutely_ college activity.” 

“Yeah—uh, I’m a sophomore. At Columbia.” 

“Ohhh. Fancy. My dream is to do poli-sci at Berkeley. But, ya know, money. I’m taking a gap year right now to work, but at this rate I’ll be lucky to go to the local juco. Anyways—” Hillary stood, collecting Peter’s tray after he devoured the two heavenly biscuits. 

He thanked her again, then had an idea. “Hey, do you have a phone?”

She smiled apologetically. “Yeah, but service is down right now.”

Peter blinked. “I—what?” 

“Like, the towers are down? Service is shitty in this area, anyways. Like _so_ bad.” 

Peter felt like he was going to explode. Of course, his luck was just brilliant. 

“Am I in hell?” 

Hillary smiled brightly. “No, you’re at Whataburger.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Around lunchtime, Natasha decided Peter was, in fact, missing. 

Typically the day after their little squad missions, they would sleep late and keep to themselves all morning, and then reconvene in the late afternoon to go over the details and such. But Peter usually was bugging Natasha before lunchtime, begging her to go grab food or coffee or play GTA. She would pretend it was annoying, but she loved it.

It was their routine. 

_Fuck it,_ she thought as she paced her room.

“Hey, FRIDAY. Where’s Peter?” 

A beat. Then, “Peter’s location is currently unavailable.”

“Unavailable to _me,_ or unavailable as in _you don’t know._ ”

“It seems that all my methods of locating Mr. Parker are not working. Should I contact Boss?” 

Natasha wanted to punch a wall. “ _No_ , god no. Absolutely do _not_ do that.” Tony would have an honest to god heart attack.

  
  


Natasha knocked five times in quick succession on Barnes’ door, before shoving it open.

“What the fuck, Nat.”

“You’re a genetically enhanced super soldier, you’re not fucking hungover. Where’s your boy toy?”

“Ew.” Bucky flipped her off from underneath his massive pile of blankets. “He’s on his daily casual twenty mile run.” 

Nat huffed. “I hate him.”

“Me too. Now fuck off.”

She just ripped off his comforter in response.

Bucky sat up and met her eyes, “Nat, seriously—”

He cut off when he saw the severity of her gaze. “It’s Peter. FRIDAY can’t locate him. I don’t know where the fuck he is. I don’t even remember all of what happened last night.”

He stared back at her, brow furrowed as if trying to recollect the events of the previous night.

She turned to leave the room, calling over her shoulder, “Ten minutes!” 

  
  


Waking up Sam was _terrible_ to say the least. It took thirty minutes to get the man out of his bed. Once Natasha finally wrangled the two of them, she debriefed them on the situation. 

“I have no clue where Peter is.” 

Sam snorted. “That little asshole probably is up seizing the day. Fucking hell.” 

Natasha gave him a hard look. “I’m being serious. FRIDAY can’t find him. And she can find anyone. I feel terrible about it but I don’t wanna stress Stark more than necessary. So recap. What happened.”

“Okay, well….” Barnes trailed off. “To _recap_ , uh. We ended up in that random nightclub in—where was it? Los Angeles?” 

The room fell quiet. Then, Sam coughed. “Holy fuck did we lose Tony Stark’s _entire_ child?” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Peter stared absentmindedly at the booth opposite of him as he sipped the large blue Powerade that Phil had reluctantly brought him. He was starting to feel alive and functional again. And bits and pieces of the night were coming back to him. It was just so _loud._

_The mission had been a success, thank god. Peter was exhausted, mentally and physically, and desperately needed a win. So it felt great._

_Despite how tired he was, he loved these stints with the team. Steve didn’t do field stuff as much these days, only when absolutely necessary. Rhodey was busy with Air Force and government stuff. Dr. Banner and Thor were off in space. Wanda was—he actually had no idea where Wanda was._

_And Tony, well, that was a different story. It drove his mentor crazy to send him out there while he had to stay home. But it just wasn’t_ realistic _for him to be in the field anymore. He was getting older, he had a daughter, and as much as he hated to admit it, the impact that wielding the Infinity Stones had on him was huge._

_And to be completely honest, the man deserved a break. He had dedicated his life to this fight, and had almost sacrificed his life for it. Peter was proud to follow in his footsteps, though it drove Tony, May, Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey—okay, so basically every parental figure in his life—crazy._

_The “active duty Avengers”, so to speak, were reduced to Nat, Sam, Bucky, and Peter himself. Peter was a sophomore at Columbia now, so while he maintained his Spider-Manning and Avengers responsibilities, he also was studying_ nonstop. 

_Most “Avengers” missions weren’t….official. It was a lot of work behind the curtain, which meant no flashy Spidey costume. He and Tony had designed a sick stealth suit, one that stayed true to Spidey, but wouldn’t draw attention. It was_ kind of _the coolest thing ever._

_This specific op was something Nat had been planning for a while. Some wannabe global terrorist organization doing weird, questionable science and genetic experimentation._

_You know, the fun stuff. They’ve been taking down their bases one by one, remaining as inconspicuous as possible. Which unfortunately meant no little quips or comments to “lighten the mood”, much to Peter’s dismay._

_This one specific mission was a bigger base. Nat was as excited one can get about a borderline illegal black op in the cold as fuck snow of the Alps._

_It had gone great, truly. Peter only had_ one _gunshot wound. Which was—contrary to what Tony would have people believe—no biggie. The team returned to the Quinjet in high spirits, and Bucky immediately pulled a bottle of “Super Soldier Vodka” out of his duffel bag. He took a swig, straight from the bottle, then nudged Peter._

_“Ow—dude what the fuck.” He gestured to his leg, which was mid diy-bullet-removal. “Do you mind?”_

_Bucky held the bottle out to Peter. “You know the drill kid.”_

_Peter narrowed his eyes. “You can’t call me a kid and offer me insanely strong liquor at the same time.” He still snatched the bottle from Bucky’s metal hand._

_“Having fun with your little surgery over there?” Nat propped her feet up on the holo-table in the center of the Quinjet._

_Peter grunted. “Oh yeah, nothing but vibes here.”_

_“Man, what the fuck does that even mean?”_

_Bucky snorted, “Your age is showing, Wilson.”_

_“Shut the fuck up, you were born in the 1910’s.”_

_“Yeah, like the kid said, nothing but vibes here.”_

_By the time they were over the ocean, everyone on the jet was decently drunk. FRIDAY had been autopiloting the Quinjet from the start, and Peter was incredibly thankful for that._

_He doesn’t clearly remember how it happened, but as Nat drained the last of the second bottle they had on board, Peter jokingly mentioned how one of his friends at Columbia wanted to take him clubbing for his 21st next year._

_Next thing he knew, Sam had changed FRIDAY’s trajectory to….California?_

_Fine by him, he was just along for the ride._

_The next few….minutes? Hours? Were a blur. His memory flashed with strobe lights, a huge crowd, and complete chaos._

_He remembers feeling overheated in his kevlar tactical suit. He remembers being hungry as fuck. He remembers Bucky handing him a half full bottle of enhanced person vodka. He definitely does_ not _remember downing it._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Natasha had FRIDAY pull video from the bay where they had arrived around five that morning, only to confirm the worst. 

Peter did not disembark the Quinjet with them. 

  
  


_Natasha was_ extremely _drunk. Absurdly drunk. She could normally hold herself together, but Barnes’ super soldier liquor was…. incredibly strong. And she hadn’t eaten all day. And, okay, maybe she’d let herself get to this point._

_Piss drunk with three of her closest friends._

_Which was absolutely ridiculous, considering the mission they just completed. Considering that things were much more…. complicated than she’d let on. Considering how it was far from over._

_She shook her head to clear her thoughts._

_The strobe lights made her feel almost lightheaded and the music was reverberating through her. She grinned at Peter, who looked dorky in his ear plugs._

_Poor kid got the short end of the stick with the side effects of his powers._

_After what could’ve been hours, the group of drunken superheroes staggered back to the Quinjet, which was inconspicuously hovering above a random soccer field a few blocks from the club._

_Barnes pulled_ another _bottle out of his duffel and Natasha saw her life flash before her eyes. He took a big swig, then passed it to Peter. Peter took another drink and sat on the floor beside Sam’s seat. He grinned, meeting Natasha’s eyes._

_“Nat Nat,” he sang._

_“Don’t call me that.”_

_“Nattie.” He patted the space next to him. When she shook her head, he held up the bottle as a silent offering._

_She snatched the bottle from him, taking a seat. Peter grinned and rested his head on her shoulder. “I’m fucking hungry.”_

_Sam groaned, “You’re always hungry.”_

_“I want a cheeseburger. No,” he paused, raising one finger. “I want_ seventeen _cheeseburgers.”_

_Barnes snatched the bottle from Nat, took a drink, and then handed it to Peter. “Oh, we’ll get you seventeen burgers. I swear to god, we’re gonna find the best goddamn burger in the fucking country.”_

_Barnes did_ not _find the best burger in the country. Instead, they stepped off the jet and out into an empty field surrounded by barbed wire. In the distance, there was an orange, glowing W and an oddly shaped building._

 _“Barnes where the fuck_ _are we.”_

_He shrugged. “I ate here once on some random solo mission a few years back.”_

_“Okay, but where_ are _we.”_

_“Texas.”_

_Natasha nodded. She was drunk, she was tired, she was starving, and she was_ beyond _asking questions._

_Ignoring the fact that ‘Texas’ was too broad an answer and the place was fucking huge, she followed her idiots as they stumbled through the seemingly endless field._

_Looking at Peter right now, you wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s capable of the poise of an Olympic gymnast. As he stumbled through the field, she took out her phone to discreetly record him._

_She was vaguely aware of Peter’s phone flying out of his thigh pocket as he attempted a running leap over the barbed wire fence._

_As the group stumbled into the restaurant, the worker at the counter looked like she was ready to set the building on fire, and walked to the back with a resigned sigh. A younger, more chipper woman came from the back, “Hi, how can I help y’all?”_

_Natasha nudged Peter, who cleared his throat. “Hi. Uh, yeah. To be totally honest I can’t read currently. At all.”_

_God, he was so drunk. Natasha resisted the urge to smack him._

_“I don’t know what I—actually. Okay, can I please have six. Wait, no._ Seven _large fries. And four cheeseburgers. Also,” he looked on the verge of tears, “I would die for all of you.”_

_Sam narrowed his eyes. “Please don’t.”_

_The next thing Nat remembers is falling into her bed at the compound._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Natasha strode through the elevator doors on Stark’s workshop floor. The group had unanimously agreed that she was the best one to tell Tony that they had _actually lost_ his child. Most likely somewhere between California or Texas, but there was no telling. 

She knew this was bad. 

Tony sat at his desk, fiddling with some Spidey tech. _God,_ that made it so much worse. 

She cleared her throat. “Stark.” 

“Romanoff,” he replied, with his usual sarcastic tone. Nat was not in the mood, and completely ready to be done with this conversation. 

She took a deep breath, _this sucks._ “Peter didn’t come home last night.” 

Tony froze, stopping his work completely. He was still facing away from her, but judging by his body language…. 

Nat continued on. “We checked the loading bay footage, he didn’t come off the jet. I—we don’t actually know his exact location as of right now—”

“FRI,” Tony cut her off, standing up and finally turning to face her. He flicked his left hand to pull up a holoscreen. 

Nat narrowed her eyes, staring at the screen in front of her. It was slightly grainy security footage, but there was an unmistakable figure seated at a table in the far left corner. 

_Peter._

Tony gestured his hand again, pulling up a map. “Cute little burger chain in Texas. A little overrated but, eh.”

Nat stared at the screen, watching as Peter chatted with a lady—a worker—as animated as ever. She had learned to never let people know when they’ve caught you off guard, so she played it cool. “Huh.” 

“FRIDAY had notified me that he didn’t get back to the Compound last night. I did some digging and, well, he’s safe. Definitely learned a lesson on drinking in _moderation._ ”

“You left him there just to fuck with him,” Nat deadpanned. 

Ton swiped away the map. “Actually, to fuck with you. And Barnes and Wilson. It was pretty funny, waiting for you guys to figure it out. Which—by the way, how _did_ you finally realize you’d lost the Spiderling?”

“A video. On my phone. He was trying to stumble through whatever random fucking field Barnes dropped us in.”

Stark nodded, “I need that video, asap. Also you three can take the jet in bay three. You lost him, you find him.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” 

“You’re also banned from babysitting. Indefinitely,” Tony called as Nat turned to leave the lab. 

She grinned, knowing it wasn’t true. “Yeah, yeah, that’s also fair.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Peter was slowly eating another large fries, when his ears picked up the near-silent hum of the Quinjet approaching. 

He stood, stretching his legs, and made his way to the counter. “It’s been fun, but my ride is here.” 

Hillary exclaimed, “It’s about time!” while Phil just grunted in response. Peter had just known Phil for a day, but it was very on brand. 

He took another look at the restaurant, his home for the day, and then waved in Hillary’s direction. “Thanks for everything. You _literally_ saved my life.” 

She grinned, giving him a mock salute. 

As he trudged through a random ass field towards the Quinjet, he couldn’t help but think of it as his own, horrible version of the walk of shame. 

When he made it up the walkway, the first thing he heard was Nat’s voice. 

“Had a fun night?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “You could say that.”

Barnes snorted. “Only you would fall asleep in a random fast food restaurant all the way across the country.” 

“I’m sorry, did I leave _myself_ here? This is, like, twelve times worse than leaving your child at the grocery store guys.” 

“Nah, kid,” said Sam, “you’re right. It was _way_ too peaceful on the flight to New York without you.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day, a certain Hillary Victor received a full ride scholarship to Berkeley, including travel and housing, for the next semester. And a wad of cash attached to a handwritten note. 

_Thanks for the burgers…. and the fries. And the honey butter whatever-the-fuck. Hopefully this covers it. This is what they meant by southern hospitality, huh? Best of luck next semester, if you party too hard and end up in New York, say hi :-)_

_-Peter ( & TS) ((he insisted on signing the card, sorry)) _

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is appreciated :-) love yall


End file.
